


This Scene Won't Play

by OomnyDevotchka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: sabriel_mini, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OomnyDevotchka/pseuds/OomnyDevotchka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after season 5. After being brought back from the dead, powerless, by a romance-crazed Chuck, Gabriel is plopped down in the Winchester brothers’ motel room with a task to complete: find and kiss his true love within a month. Also known as Gabriel is a Disney Princess.</p><p>Warning: contains attempted non-con</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Scene Won't Play

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank [eneumann](http://eneumann.livejournal.com/) for the quick, thorough beta, and, of course, [sabrea91](http://sabrea91.livejournal.com/) for the gorgeous, gorgeous art! (more [here](http://sabrea91.livejournal.com/862.html))

 

          

            Gabriel’s eyes fly open and he sits up with a gasp.

            He’s not really used to feeling pain – he can heal all but the most serious of wounds with the snap of his fingers.

            Or – he _could_ heal all but the most serious of wounds with a snap of his fingers. Judging by the way he feels like he’s gone two rounds with an angel-blade wielding shark or something, he’s lost that ability.

            Judging by his last memory, though, he shouldn’t even be _alive_ , so he thinks he’s doing pretty well, considering.

            He drags himself to his feet and gives an experimental tug on the place, deep within himself, where he’s always been able to feel his power. It confirms his worst fear. He knows how it feels when his power is dampened, and this feels entirely different. He feels _empty_ somehow, less than himself. It’s not comforting.

            It’s right when all this is sinking in, the fact that he’s somehow alive after being impaled on Lucifer’s blade, that he hears a voice behind him.

            “Gabriel. It’s good to see you again.”

            Gabriel’s never heard the particular incarnation of this voice before, but no matter the vessel, he’d know his Father anywhere.

            He whirls around to face the being he hasn’t seen in thousands of years, the Being who he’s spent so long resenting.

            The last time Gabriel saw his Father, He had been in the form of an old man with a long white beard – the form that humans seem to have assigned Him in their depictions. Apparently, Yahweh has grown tired of that vessel, for he appears before Gabriel now in the guise of a much younger man – perhaps mid-thirties, almost as short as Gabriel’s own vessel, with dark curling hair and blue eyes surrounded with purpling bags. He’s heavily stubbled, and dressed only in a bathrobe and boxer shorts. He hardly looks like the same being who could have rained down destruction on the world in the times of Moses and Noah.

            Gabriel’s incapable of being anything but himself, so the first words he says to his Father are “Going for the starving artist look now, Dad?”

            Instead of getting angry, God tilts his head and smiles. “They call me Chuck, in this form,” he says.

            A scruffy little vessel called Chuck. “So it’s more of a midlife crisis, then?”

            “Of a sort.” Chuck seems to realize fairly quickly that Gabriel’s pride won’t allow him to ask the obvious question. “You want to know how you were resurrected, and why you are now human.” It’s not a question. Gabriel had almost forgotten how impossible it was to have a meaningful, balanced conversation with an omniscient being. He doesn’t bother to deny it, just gives a shrug.

            Chuck continues. “Since the Apocalypse was averted, I have been attempting to build a closer relationship with my children.”

            And _damn_ if that doesn’t arouse Gabriel’s curiosity. Not the part where Chuck is apparently Mr. Mom all the sudden, but the fact that the Apocalypse actually _ended_. He can’t believe that TweedleDee, TweedleDouche, and their pet angel _actually_ managed to pull it off.

            Chuck laughs. “That’s some clever wordplay, Gabriel.”

            Gabriel glares. “Stay outta my head,” he mumbles, slightly ashamed that Chuck has apparently managed to reduce him to the mental state of a human teenager. He can almost _feel_ the acne coming on.

            Chuck continues as if Gabriel hadn’t spoken (another thing that hasn’t changed). “Yes, Sam, Dean, and Castiel saved the world,” he says, sounding almost…fond? “You deserve credit in the matter as well, though. You did tell them how to do it, after all.”

            “They actually used the rings?” He hadn’t expected them to actually _try_ the idea that he left them – it was _suicide_. No one, not even Sam and Dean Winchester, could possibly dupe Lucifer back into the Cage.

            But apparently, they had.

            Chuck seems to be enjoying Gabriel’s incredulity, but he looks a little impatient as well. Typical. You can’t even get a five minute talk out of the guy.

            “Anyway, Gabriel,” Chuck’s voice is businesslike once again, all traces of fondness or amusement gone. “I did bring you back for a reason.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and Gabriel surpasses a roll of his eyes with difficulty. “You have been living alone for far too long, Gabriel, and I don’t wish to see you go any longer without finding meaningful companionship.”

            Gabriel does _not_ like the sound of that.

            “I have resurrected you so that you can find your true love.”

            Gabriel actually gapes at that. There’s no _way_ Chuck can be serious.

            “Ah, but I am!” Chuck’s clearly trying to look Fatherly, but either the vessel he’s occupying or the being itself isn’t doing a very good job – he just looks uncomfortable. “Going through life without a companion, without someone to share in your joys and pain…Well, it’s not really living at all.”

            Oh shit. Gabriel has a suspicion as to what could have caused this. “Are you – are you in _love_?” he asks, saying _love_ the way an ordinary person might say _hemorrhoids_.

            Chuck blushes, giving Gabriel all the answers he needs. “That is immaterial,” he says primly. “I merely wish you to experience the feeling. Which is why I have taken your abilities away.”

            Gabriel frowns. “I don’t follow.”

            “Call it insurance,” says Chuck. “If you don’t kiss your true love within a month, your powers will be gone for good, and you will live out a mortal life.”

            Gabriel sputters. “But- but- there are _billions_ of humans out there! How am I supposed to know which one of them is my,” he grimaces “ _true love_ , especially without my powers?”

            The grin on Chuck’s face at that isn’t promising. “I thought you might take advice from one of your brothers, who lives happily on Earth with his own true love.”

            Gabriel asks “Aziraphale?”, hoping that Chuck will answer the affirmative. There’s only one other angel that he can think of that could possibly fit the bill, and that possibility is just _unthinkable_.

            “Not quite,” says Chuck, and the world around Gabriel dissolves. 

***

            Gabriel finds himself on the floor of an ugly-ass motel room, cold metal of a gun pressed to his forehead. He stifles a groan and a smart-ass remark, because right now? That gun could actually _kill_ him.

            He’s a little less pissed off when he realizes that it’s Sammy who’s holding the gun. The younger Winchester has always been his favorite – he’s more fun to mess with, for one thing, and his wide-eyed idealism is …refreshing, compared to Dean’s stoic pessimism.

            Plus, if what Chuck had implied was correct, he’s willing to bet that Sam’s not the Winchester screwing his baby brother, which is another point in his favor.

            The gun shifts slightly when Sam realizes who he’s pointing it at, but doesn’t move – Gabriel may have been their ally before he died, but Sam’s had too much experience with both angels and the resurrected dead to trust his eyes on this matter. “What are you?” he asks.

            “Not an angel anymore,” says Gabriel bitterly.

            The gun wavers again, but Sam doesn’t put it down, and Gabriel is getting seriously sick of the tough-guy routine. He wishes he could turn the gun into a bouquet of flowers or something. “Which means I’ll die if you shoot me in the head,” he elaborates, slowly, to make sure Sam understands him. “So put the peashooter down?”

            Sam snorts, but lowers the gun. “Peashooter? Who do you think you are, Billy the Kid?”

            “I did travel around with him for a while. Cool guy.” Gabriel is just getting into reminiscing when he gets a face full of holy water.

            Sputtering for the second time that day, Gabriel looks up at Sam through his wet bangs. “What was that for?” he whines.

            “Just making sure,” Sam says serenely, before throwing a handful of salt onto Gabriel (which, of course, _sticks_ , due to the holy water dousing).

            “I am _not_ a demon!” Gabriel insists.

            “You’re also not supposed to be _alive_ ,” Sam points out, grabbing a knife.

            Gabriel scrambles to his feet and backs away from Sam. “No. No way are you cutting me with that thing.”

            “It’s just a test, to make sure you aren’t a shapeshifter.”

            “If I were a shapeshifer,” Gabriel argues, trying to subtly edge his way towards the door. “Why would I show up looking like this?” he indicates his vessel. “Not very likely to trust the guy who killed your brother exactly 743 times, are you?”

            Sam’s eyes soften, and he says, in that earnest way he has “You helped us, in the end. We consider you a friend.”

            That makes something in Gabriel’s stomach shift strangely. He chalks it up to the whole newly-human thing, and says “I’m still not a shapeshifter.”

            “That’s what you’d say if you were one,” Sam points out, and then he _lunges_. If Gabriel had been at full power, he would’ve been able to see it coming from a mile away. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t, and Sam’s knife opens up a shallow cut on his arm. He yelps, still not used to pain, and marvels at how different it is than what he had felt when he first woke up. That pain had been just as intense, but it had been dull, muted somehow, and spread indiscriminately throughout his entire body. This is a sharp, localized kind of ache.

            Gabriel lifts his arm to his eyes with fascination. He’d always thought that humans were pussies for shrieking and carrying on so much when he sicced a bear or the Hulk on them, but he understands a little better now – feeling pain as a human just isn’t the same as feeling pain as an angel.

            Sam looks contrite, and says “I guess you really aren’t a shapeshifter, then.” His voice is practically dripping with remorse, and Gabriel wonders, not for the first time, how this bleeding heart had gotten stuck killing monsters for a living.

            “You could have just listened to me,” Gabriel points out.

            “Yes, _listening_ to a possible shapeshifter is a good idea.” Sam rolls his eyes. He pauses before speaking again, and when the words come out, they’re reluctant. “…one more test.”

            Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him, running through a mental list of what other creatures Sam could possibly think he is – other than demons and shapeshifters, he can’t think of any others that could take on his shape.

            Sam steps forward, and runs his fingers through the blood welling up on Gabriel’s arm. Throwing an apologetic look over his shoulder, he turns to the wall and begins to use the blood to paint a familiar sigil.

            Gabriel sucks in a breath when he recognizes it, trying to push down the sharp twinge of pain it causes. “I told you, Sasquatch, not an angel anymore,” he says, purposefully making his voice nonchalant.

            Sam presses his palm to the finished angel banishing sigil.

            Nothing happens.

            Sam turns to Gabriel, all puppy-dog eyes, and asks, very seriously “What happened?

            It’s as though he actually _cares_ , and Gabriel is not used to that. So, he deflects. “It’s not important. Although, I see the world hasn’t gone all ‘splodey while I was dead. What’s up with that?”

            Sam has spent far too much time around Dean to not recognize a deflection when he sees one, but, again, he has experience with the recently-undead. He knows that it’s not always easy to talk about it. “Your idea worked,” he says.

            Gabriel snorts. “I gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting you yahoos to actually pull it off.” He’s much more comfortable, now that it seems like his deflection has worked, so he crosses the room and sprawls out on the bed. “How’d you get Death’s ring?”

            Sam perches his considerable bulk on the other bed. “It was weird. He just…gave it to us.”

            Gabriel considers for a moment. “Lucy had him on a string, huh? Death’s never liked being told what to do.”

            Sam acknowledges this with a tilt of his head. “Yeah, that was basically the gist of it. Then, I said yes to Lucifer -”

            Gabriel sits straight up at that. “ _What_!?” he yelps. “I knew you were stupid, for Dad’s sake, but you actually said _yes_?! Why are you not dead?”

            Sam shrugs. “I think I was, for a little while. Ish. I basically jumped in the pit with Lucifer inside me, and grabbed Michael too. Cas came and pulled me out before I was down there more than a few hours, though.”

            Gabriel shakes his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling as though asking his Father why he trusted the fate of the world to this man-child. “Of all the idiotic ideas,” he mutters.

            “Worked, didn’t it?” Sam looks far too smug for anyone’s good. “besides, it’s not like your hand-to-hand combat with the Devil was any smarter.”

            “Hey, I got you guys out of that hotel, didn’t I?” Gabriel protests. “How long has it been since I died, anyway?” He’s been curious about this since he woke up, but he had known better than to ask Chuck: his Father tended to have a skewed sense of time.

            “Um. Maybe…Six months?” Sam says.

            “You don’t sound sure of that.”

            “It’s been a bit of a crazy few months.” Sam says cryptically. Before Gabriel can ask him to elaborate, he’s interrupted by the door slamming open, revealing the two beings he’s been dreading seeing.

***

            Naturally, as soon as Dean sees Gabriel, he trains his own gun on Gabriel’s forehead.

            It’s really getting kinda old.

            Castiel has a slightly better reaction – he just sort of tilts his head and blinks in that bemused sort of way he has, before stating. “Gabriel. You are currently human.”

            This causes Dean to put his gun away, turning to look incredulously at Castiel. “ _Human_?” he exclaims, then shakes his head. “Never mind. How are you even _alive?_ ”

            Gabriel has a sinking feeling that Dean won’t drop this subject as easily as Sam had, so he decides to just get it over with. “Divine intervention.” He shrugs. “Father’s going through some kind of midlife crisis, apparently.”

            Castiel’s eyes widen. “You’ve spoken to Father?” he breathes.

            Gabriel snaps out of his contemplation of how much Castiel’s vessel makes him look like an anime character. “Yep. You haven’t?” he tries to make it sound casual, but he can see the exact moment his words hit Castiel – his face falls. “I haven’t,” Castiel confirms, sorrow evident in his voice.

            Dean, who had been shooting suspicious glares at Gabriel, turns to Castiel. “God’s a dick, remember? You’re better off without him.” Dean’s tone, softer than Gabriel has ever heard it, is a stark contrast to his harsh words.

            Castiel nods once, looking up at Dean. “It’s alright,” he says.

            Fucking hell. Gabriel had thought that his little brother had looked at Dean with a disgusting amount of affection in the past, but it was absolutely _nothing_ compared to this. Castiel’s vessel’s blue eyes are soft and open, looking directly at Dean, unwavering. Gabriel doesn’t even want to know what Dean looks like right now: this doesn’t gel with Gabriel’s previous experience of the Hunter, and he _hates_ it when he can’t predict what someone is going to do.

            Gabriel steals a look from Sam, who doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. He is, however, looking anywhere but at Dean and Castiel, twin spots of red high up on his cheekbones.

            Gabriel may be a shadow of his former self, but he can't resist the golden opportunity that is placed right in front of them. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Uncomfortable with the amount of _love_ in the room right now?” Gabriel draws out the word ‘love’ until it sounds vaguely obscene; his furiously waggling eyebrows complete the picture.

            His comment hits its mark, in that it makes Sam flush even deeper and look mortally offended. However, he hadn’t remembered to factor Dean into the equation.

            He feels a hand on his arm a split second before he’s spun into a headlock, Dean’s large forearm pressed directly over his throat. He’s never had to deal with loss of oxygen before, so the lightheadedness this causes is a surprise. It’s not a pleasant feeling, and Gabriel feels an edge of panic invade his consciousness. Surely, Dean wouldn’t kill him? Then again, it’s not like Gabriel had spared the Winchesters any amount of pain in the last few years. It’s entirely possible that, for Dean, helping them stop the Apocalypse was too little, too late on Gabriel’s part.

            Suddenly, Gabriel’s windpipe is released. He draws as deep a breath as possible, but it’s as though his lungs can’t handle the oxygen after being deprived: he starts to hack and sputter. Over the noise he’s making (and it’s entirely possible he may be exaggerating it, slightly), he can hear Dean saying, sulkily, “I wasn’t going to kill him.”

            Gabriel stands upright, still massaging his windpipe, and takes in the scene before him. Castiel is standing in between he and Dean, glaring daggers at him. Dean looks like a chastised child.

            “Gabriel is my _brother_ , Dean,” says Castiel seriously. “And he is trying to adjust to a loss of his powers, which would be difficult for any angel, much less one of his status. Don’t you remember when I was Falling?”

            Dean’s guilt looks slightly more real at that, and Gabriel is reluctantly impressed. It seems that Castiel’s first relationship has taught him the art of manipulation. Gabriel can’t resist interjecting, now that he knows Castiel is on his side. “You sneaky bastard!” he exclaims approvingly.

            Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel can see Sam literally facepalm. Hm, he hadn’t been aware that humans actually _did_ that.

            Dean bristles again, obviously gearing up for a verbal fight now that his attempts at getting physical have been thwarted. Gabriel’s glad of this: he may no longer be Dean’s equal in strength, but he’s been alive for millennia compared to Dean’s paltry thirty-odd years. He’s entirely positive that he’ll come out the victor in a verbal smackdown.  

               Before Dean can say anything, though, there’s another body in the room.

***

            The comings and goings of Jehovah are different from those of his angels. When an angel enters a room, their wings make a distinct rustling noise. This can be lessened, of course, with practice – Gabriel is entirely certain that his own entrances are undetectable to humans – but it is always there.

            God, on the other hand, has the ability to teleport – he doesn’t need to rely on slow, cumbersome wings.

            The upshot of this is that none of the beings in the Winchesters' motel room has any sort of warning before Chuck shows up in the middle of their argument. Predictably, Dean and Sam fumble for weapons immediately upon realizing he’s there, but Castiel just gives a quizzical tilt of his head and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

            “Wait a second – _Chuck_?” says Dean incredulously.

            Chuck looks down nervously at the knife that Dean has against his throat, and his voice is weak when he answers. “Hey there, Dean,” he says, raising his arms above his head in the universal ‘I’m unarmed’ signal.

            Gabriel’s amused at Chuck’s acting, but he’s too curious about how, exactly, the Winchesters know God to let it play out.

            Plus, he loves being the one to let the cat outta the bag.

            “Drop the act, Dad,” he says, infusing a fair amount of boredom and contempt into his voice.

            There’s silence for a few seconds, before Sam puts a voice to the thought that’s clearly also in Dean and Castiel’s brains. “Dad?” his voice goes slightly squeaky, which is _hilarious_ , considering his size. “You’re…you’re _God?_ ”

            Chuck straightens up and gives a little shrug. “Guilty.”

            If he’s expecting anyone to fall to their knees in awe, he clearly doesn’t know the inhabitants of the room very well.

            Predictably enough, Dean is the one to break the stunned silence. “You mean to tell me,” he starts, dangerously, and Gabriel is grudgingly impressed with his gumption, to speak to God like that. “That the _whole time_ we were fighting against the Apocalypse, you were _right there_?!”

            Castiel steps forward before Dean can lift his gun again. “Father,” he acknowledges, softly. “Why didn’t you step in? So many humans, _angels_ died.”

            There’s no two ways about it. Castiel looks betrayed. It’s just _wrong_ , Gabriel thinks, seeing that look in his formerly devoted brother’s face. It’s clear that there is nothing Chuck can say to make Castiel regain the kind of faith he used to have, the faith that, it appears, has been permanently transferred to Dean.

            Chuck sighs the sigh of the truly put-upon, but when he speaks, his voice is calm. “The humans had to do it for themselves. It’s been a long time since divine intervention was a regular kinda thing.”

            “Couldn’t you have just, y’know, _not_ gone away in the first place?” Sam pipes up. He’s so obviously the one in the room that’s the most uncomfortable being in the presence of God, and it’s _endearing_ , somehow. “You wouldn’t have had to intervene on the humans’ behalf, then, because the angels never would have gone rogue.”

            “I realize now that the whole situation could have been handled better-”

            “That’s one way to put it.” Gabriel mutters. Call it selfish, but he’s _far_ more concerned about his lack of powers than he is about rehashing the Wrongs Done to the Winchesters for the billionth time.

            “Gabriel.” Chuck admonishes, before turning back to the others. “In fact, that is the main reason why I brought Gabriel back, to try to make amends.”

            Gabriel’s lost, and judging by the looks on their faces, so is everyone else in the room. “Say _what_ now?” he demands.

            Chuck shrugs. “Call it a…trial run. If this works out the way I hope it will, I may bring back some of the people and angels killed in the Apocalypse.

            Dean perks up at that. “Ellen and Jo Harvelle?”

            Chuck nods. “If, and only if, Gabriel completes the task I have set him.”

            Dean turns to Gabriel. “Oh, you better fucking complete this task,” he growls. Gabriel has never heard him sound so dangerous and, despite his dislike of Dean, he feels for the guy. Gabriel knows what it’s like to lose someone close, and, judging by his tone, these women were _very_ close to Dean.

            Still, the added incentive to complete the task doesn’t make it any easier. “Can you at least give me a hint where to start, then?” Gabriel asks hopefully.

            In response, Chuck disappears. Asshole.

            There’s silence throughout the room for a moment. It’s broken by Sam, who asks “What’s this task you have to do, then? I’m sure we can help you with it.”

            Dean and Gabriel give identical snorts.

            Sam throws a warning look at his brother before fixing Gabriel with puppy dog eyes. “C’mon, It can’t be _that_ bad," he coaxes.

            Gabriel takes a deep breath, resenting the fact that he has to breathe at all. It really pisses him off to admit it, but if he has any chance at all of completing Chuck’s task, he’s going to have to tell Sam, Dean, and Castiel what it is. Sam and Dean are far better at things like research than Gabriel is, and Castiel still has his powers (though they are, admittedly, less than what Gabriel’s were).

            Gabriel lets it out, so quickly that there are no spaces in between his words. “I’msupposedtofindmytruelove,” he mutters.

            Sam and Dean look confused, but Castiel, with his superior hearing, seems to have heard Gabriel perfectly. “You have to find your true love?” Castiel repeats, more slowly for the benefit of the humans.

            Dean cracks up. “Your _true love_?” he chokes out, clutching his sides. “Lemme guess, the curse will break when you get true love’s kiss.”

            Gabriel scowls. He may have been forced into the role of Disney princess in this little charade, but he’s not about to take that shit lying down. “Yeah, Chuck sent me to hang out with you bozos because, apparently, Castiel is living on earth with his _true love_.”

            That shuts Dean up.

***

            The first course of action the Winchesters take, after Dean stops glaring long enough to realize how serious this shit is, is to call Bobby.

            Gabriel has only ever met the older hunter once, but Bobby had made a favorable impression on him – he has the kind of take-no-shit attitude that Gabriel respects, with just enough of a sense of humor to make him interesting.

            Nevertheless, Gabriel is pretty sure that there won’t be a wealth of knowledge at Bobby’s fingertips about this particular topic.

            From the look on Sam’s face as he listens to Bobby’s response on the phone, Bobby knows this.

            Sam hangs up and says “Bobby doesn’t think there’s any sort of _secret_ to this.” Sam’s massive forehead is wrinkled in concern. It’s rather cute, really. Makes him look like a bulldog, or a pug, or one of those other dogs with faces that are a mass of wrinkles.

            Gabriel, from where he’s sprawled out over one of the beds, arm resting over his face to block the light, which is irritating him for some reason, mutters “I could have told you that.”

            Castiel, who is hovering anxiously around a still-upset Dean, acknowledges this with a tilt of his head. “The human idea of ‘soul mates’ is erroneous,” he says.

            “What do you mean?” Sam gives Castiel his full attention.

            Gabriel doesn’t like being ignored. “He _means,_ ” he interjects “That there’s no _one right person_ for everyone.” He likes to think that it takes true skill to insert that much disdain into his words.

            “But Chuck said ‘true love’,” Sam argues. “Doesn’t that imply that there’s only one person who can fit the bill?”

            “Not necessarily,” Castiel interrupts, before Gabriel can make a cutting remark. “There are seven billion humans in the world, Sam, not to mention countless angels, and even demons. It’s simply a mathematical impossibility that there won’t be more than one any person is compatible with.”

            “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Dean asks, finally tempering his aggression enough to rejoin the conversation. “The more possibilities, the better.”

            “That doesn’t mean that there are like, four billion potential matches, dumbass,” Gabriel snaps. “There’ll be like ten, if we’re lucky.”

            “Shit,” Dean groans, knocking his head lightly against the wall behind him. “I can’t _believe_ I’m gonna be playing matchmaker to a fucking _archangel_. Why is this my life?”

            Sam continues with the thread of the conversation as though Dean hadn’t spoken. “I don’t understand why Chuck made it sound like we’re looking for one particular person.” He’s frowning at his cell phone, as though Bobby will call him back with the answers to all his questions.

            Gabriel huffs, rolling over onto his stomach. “He probably _does_ have one specific person in mind,” he admits. “I have a sneaking suspicion that Our Holy Lord himself has been hitting the romance juice lately.”

            “You think Chuck’s in love?” Dean asks skeptically, before groaning and thunking his head against the wall again, much harder this time. “ _Becky_ ,” he grits out, sounding as though it’s physically painful for him to say the word.

            Sam, waiting for his laptop to boot up, grimaces and mutters “Better him than me.”

            Gabriel latches onto this information like a dog with a bone. And shit, that makes him miss Reese. “Who’s Becky?”

            The Winchester brothers make identical faces at this question, leaving Castiel to answer. “Becky Rosen is…passionate about the prophecies made by our Father in the Winchester Gospels,” he says, sounding like he’s trying for some sort of tact.

            Dean seems to recognize that his angel boyfriend is being about as clear as mud, so he clarifies “Becky’s this crazy chick who was a fan of those creepy-ass books Chuck wrote about us. She is – or was, I guess – in love with Sam, and used to write stories about Sam and I fucking.”

            Gabriel can’t stop the look of sheer horror that comes over his face. “Dear Dad.” He says faintly. “I _knew_ he didn’t have any taste as soon as I saw him in that vessel, but that…”

            The ground shakes just a little bit, then, and Sam and Dean look alarmed, but Gabriel just raises his arms in a placating gesture, in the general direction of the sky. “Sorry, sorry!” he says loudly. “Will refrain from insulting the girlfriend.”

            The ground stops moving.

            Sam’s tapping away at his computer, and he asks, with a falsely bright tone to his voice, “So Gabriel, men or women?”

            As someone who’s been hiding his identity and generally being antisocial for millennia, Gabriel’s not exactly fond of searching personal questions.

             But, the Winchesters are still his best bet for getting _out_ of this situation, so he forces himself to answer. “I’m not picky.” He shrugs. “Genderless, remember? It’d be a bit hypocritical for me to be concerned over what my partners are packing.”

            Sam nods absentmindedly, clicking away at his keyboard, and something about that makes Gabriel _really_ fucking uncomfortable. “Sam? What’re you doing?” he asks.

            Sam looks up, ‘see how innocent I am’ look plastered firmly on his face. “Just…trying out a hypothesis,”he says, but he’s so obviously hedging that it doesn’t make Gabriel feel better. He inches over, craning his neck to see what’s on the computer screen, but Sam shifts so he’s covering it with his considerable bulk.

            “Sam, come _on_!” Gabriel’s whining, but if Sam’s doing what he thinks he is, then that’s the least of his concerns.

            Sam clicks a few more times before turning his laptop around, showing Gabriel what’s on the screen:

 

**Gabriel – 35 – Garden City, Idaho – Interested in men and women**

**About me:** Hey there, my name is Gabriel. I like sugar and flying. I’m invested in my Christian faith. Feel free to message me ;)

 

            Gabriel stares at what is unmistakably an _online dating profile_ for a few seconds in mute horror. “No. No. Nonononono. This is not happening. I am a fucking _archangel_ , I am not using _online dating_!”

            Dean dissolves into laughter again, but Sam has a shit-eating grin on his face. “Think about it, Gabriel,” he coaxes. “We’re in Idaho, in a town that has like, 10,000 people in it. There’s a very slim chance you’re going to find anyone compatible by going out to bars, or whatever. I’m assuming there’s a time limit on this-”

            “A month,” Gabriel says, grudgingly.

            “-So we don’t have time to travel around to other places, either.” Sam finishes. “Listen, over 40 million people in the U.S. are on online dating sites. It’s a start, right?”

            Gabriel’s not entirely convinced, but what the hell: it’s not like it can _hurt_ his chances, right? “Fine.” He concedes. “But you are _not_ posting that shitty profile, what the hell?”

            Sam looks vaguely guilty. “I don’t know you very well…” he trails off.

            Gabriel scoffs. “Winky face, Sam. _Winky face._ Gimme.” He takes the computer from Sam, and begins typing himself.

 

 **Gabriel – 4.5 Billion – Garden City, Idaho – Interested in men and women**      

 

 **About me:** Hey there, mortals! My name’s Gabriel, and you’ll never find another person as awesome as me. I’m funny as hell, the smartest person you’ve ever met, _and_ I can fly. What are you waiting for? Message me, bitches!

 

Sam, from where he’s looking over Gabriel’s shoulder – which, _annoying_ , does he have no concept of personal space? – says “That makes you come off a little conceited, dude. And what’s with the age thing?”

            “That’s how old I am. Ish,” says Gabriel.

            “Well no one’s gonna _believe_ that,” Sam points out, in that irritatingly superior way that he has. “Go with 35, it’s about how old your vessel looks.

            Gabriel rolls his eyes, but erases the profile to start again. “ _Fine_.”

 

**Gabriel – 35 – Garden City, Idaho – Interested in men and women**

**About me:** Hey, I’m Gabriel. My best quality is my sense of humor, and I’m looking for someone who loves to laugh as much as I do. I’m a pretty laid-back guy, but I like the occasional thrill – I fly in my spare time. What are you waiting for? Message me!

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at Sam when he’s finished typing. “Good?” he asks.

            Sam grins back at him. “Perfect.”

***

            Naturally, the first blind date that Gabriel gets set up on, courtesy of his witty and appealing online dating profile, sucks hardcore.

            It happens about a week after they had put the profile online, a week in which Gabriel tried, with varying levels of success, to get used to this whole human thing.

            Since he’s been living on Earth for so long, much of it comes easier to him than it would to other angels (like, say, Castiel, who still manages to freak the hell out of pretty much every civilian they come across). However, there are aspects of human living that, frankly, baffle him.

            One example is shaving. He _gets_ that human males grow hair on their faces that they have to remove if they don’t want to look like a pedophile, but he didn’t expect it to be so damn _hard_.

            When he comes out of the motel bathroom for the first time, bleeding from the _face_ , Dean just laughs at him, the bastard.

            Sam motions him back into the bathroom, sticks toilet paper onto his wounds, and finishes up for him.

            Then there’s the whole hunger thing. Not food. Gabriel gets food, Gabriel _loves_ food, but he’s never had any adverse consequences from going without food.

            So, he doesn’t really know what to do when he starts getting this gnawing ache in his stomach, when he starts snapping at the others for no reason, and when he starts feeling like he’s going to faint.

            Dean laughs at him _again_ when they figure it out, but luckily, Castiel’s there this time to throw him disappointed looks until he shuts up.

            Sam takes him out to dinner, and doesn’t complain when he insists on ordering a giant hot fudge sundae for desert.

            But besides that, Gabriel feels pretty confident that he’s adapting to this human thing _like a boss_. Which is why he’s not pleased when he realizes that Sam, Dean, and Castiel have followed him to the restaurant where he’s supposed to meet the first woman to have contacted him.

            They’re sitting about three tables away from him, and Sam and Dean are trying their best to be incognito by hiding behind the menus. Gabriel can’t even fathom how it is that they practically sneak around like this for a _living_ , because they are not at all good at it. Not to mention that Castiel apparently hasn’t got the ‘hiding’ memo, because he’s burning a hole into the side of Gabriel’s face with his eyes. He’s really fucking good at staring. If it was an Olympic sport, Castiel would win the gold, silver, _and_ , bronze medals, because every other athlete would drop out after getting one blast of his baby blues.

            Gabriel just about to go over and tell them to get the fuck out, thanks, he’s capable of handling a blind date on his own, when he hears a tentative “Gabriel?” from behind him.

            He turns around, ready to inject his charm _all_ up in this situation, but is brought up short by the fact that this woman looks nothing at all like her profile picture. She’s at least five years older and ten pounds heavier than he had thought. Now, for all his past dalliances with super attractive people, Gabriel’s not actually shallow: he’s an _angel_ , for Dad’s sake, he knows that the packaging doesn’t matter.

            It’s the _lying_ that bothers him about this. It’s quite obviously not a case of her not _knowing_ the things she had lied about – she had been intentionally deceptive in order to attract a date.

            Then again, Gabriel didn’t exactly advertise the fact that he’s a former archangel of the Lord on his profile, so he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on, here. He decides to give her a chance. “So, _Laura_ , is it?” he says, his voice practically dripping with flattery. He manages to resist the urge to give her his best eyebrow waggle; he recalls that human women find that off-putting, rather than adorable.

            The woman _giggles_. Seriously, gives a full-on _giggle_. It’s kinda disturbing: she’s got to be at least in her forties, and the sound coming out of her mouth is reminiscent of a twelve-year-old.

            Gabriel just rolls with it, though, shooting up out of his chair in order to pull out the chair on the other side of the table for Laura.

            It only takes two more minutes for him to realize that the lying and the giggling aren’t the only poor qualities Laura has.

            In fact, they’re not even the _worst_ qualities Laura has.    

            She’s rude and condescending to the waiter, when he comes to ask them what they’d like to drink, and she’s insufferably shallow to boot.

            Were Gabriel still doing the Trickster thing, she’d probably be one of his victims. Maybe he’d force her to work as a waitress nonstop until she keels over with exhaustion. Possibly while wearing heated iron shoes.

            Gabriel’s particularly fond of the brothers Grimm. Say what you will about them, they knew how to devise a good punishment.

            Anyway, it’s an unmitigated disaster, and Gabriel invents an excuse to leave before the dessert course (he’ll say that again, because it bears repeating: Gabriel _leaves before the dessert course_ ), making sure he leaves a giant tip for the harassed waiter. He doesn’t ask Laura for another date before he leaves, and he doesn’t tell her he’ll call her.

            He meets up with Sam, Dean, and Castiel outside the restaurant, knowing that Castiel has likely told the two humans _exactly_ what had happened on his date.

            Sam smiles at him sympathetically, but doesn’t actually say anything, which is why Sam is Gabriel’s favorite of the three of them.

            Since Castiel is completely devoid of any kind of tact, he chooses to shoot Gabriel a pitying look. If there’s one thing Gabriel can’t _stand_ , it’s pity, so he ignores his brother, speeding up so he doesn’t have to walk with the others.

            At this rate? There’s no way he’s gonna find anyone by the time the month is out.

***

            That night, Gabriel messages back one of the other people that had responded to his profile, a man called Adrian. Sam, who had elected himself official Keeper of Gabriel’s Love Life (without consulting Gabriel about it first) hadn’t responded to the message Adrian had sent, deeming the man ‘creepy’.

            And yeah, Gabriel kinda gets where Sam is coming from, there: the man’s looks are a bit serial-killer-esque. But hey, by human standards, Gabriel himself can probably be considered a serial killer, so they’ll have something in common, right?

            There’s no way he’s gonna fulfill Chuck’s demands without putting himself out there, in any case, so he sets up a date with Adrian in three days’ time.

            He doesn’t tell any of the others what he’s done.

***

            They meet in a bowling alley, rather than a restaurant, and Gabriel takes that to be a good sign. Low-key venues like this are more suited to Gabriel’s personality than the stuffy formality of your typical ‘date’ location.

            Adrian is a hell of a lot easier to get along with than Laura, too. He’s pretty quiet, but he has this morbid sense of humor that Gabriel can play off of easy as breathing. Easier than breathing, really, since, angel, breathing isn’t really a _natural_ thing to him…

            But he digresses.

            The two of them argue good-naturedly about who will pay for their bowling shoes, before agreeing that Gabriel will pick up that part of the tab (with a fake credit card, thank you, Winchesters and your dubious morality), while Adrian will get the beers.

            It’s when they’re about halfway through their game that Gabriel starts to feel woozy. It can’t be hunger – he’d eaten before the date – so he’s pretty confused and kinda freaked out.

            Adrian notices his distress and walks over. “Gabriel? Are you alright?” he asks, a concerned look on his face. At least, Gabriel _thinks_ it’s a concerned look: the world is going fuzzy, and it’s like his eyes can’t move fast enough to track normally. He tries to answer, tries to tell Adrian that he thinks he needs to step outside for a minute, but his voice comes out garbled and incomprehensible. Adrian, bless him, seems to understand regardless. He pulls Gabriel up from his chair and slings one of Gabriel’s arms around his shoulders, stooping to compensate for their difference in height.

            As they maneuver slowly to the door, Gabriel tries once again to figure out what could possibly be wrong with him. He’s been drunk before, and this kinda feels like that, but he hadn’t even finished one beer. He may not have angelic tolerance any more, but he’s pretty sure he’s not _that_ much of a lightweight.

            He realizes what’s wrong when Adrian drags him around the side of the building and shoves him against the wall, boxing him in with his body.

            The beer had been spiked, _of course_ it had been spiked and Gabriel should’ve been paying enough attention to realize that Adrian had given it to him already opened.

            Adrian’s lips are on his, then, harsh and bruising, and Gabriel has never felt less in control than he does now. He curses everything as he tries to get his body to cooperate enough to fight back: Chuck, for taking away the powers that would allow him to smite his assailant without lifting a finger, Sam for having the online dating idea, and, most of all, _himself_ , for being stupid enough to do this alone.

            Adrian’s hands start fumbling at Gabriel’s belt, and he gives up on fighting back, tries to yell for help instead, but even his vocal chords aren’t cooperating with him anymore.

            He’s planning on praying, next, hoping that a nonverbal prayer will be strong enough to summon Castiel, but his plans are rendered unnecessary when Adrian is _ripped_ off of him.

            Adrian may be bigger than Gabriel, but he’s nowhere near as big as Sam, and apparently has no background in fighting, either. He goes down with one hit from Sam’s bear paw and curls in on himself, trying to protect the more vulnerable parts of his body.

            It’s a position that would usually get Sam to lay off, Gabriel thinks, since Sam doesn’t actually get any pleasure from causing others pain. But clearly, something about this case is different, since Sam draws a foot back and delivers a solid kick to Adrian’s ribs, causing the man to cry out.

            And really, Gabriel would be a-ok with watching Sam beat the shit out of, maim, or possibly kill Adrian, but his legs have given out on him, and he doesn’t want to spend another minute sitting propped up against the bowling alley.

            He tries to speak again, only coming out with a garbled “Mmmph!”, but it does the trick: Sam stops glowering menacingly at Adrian’s prone form and comes over to kneel beside Gabriel.

            “Are you OK?” Sam asks, urgently.

            Gabriel tries to roll his eyes, but even that takes too much effort.

            Sam seems to take his non-answer as confirmation that Gabriel is _not_ , in fact, OK. He puts one arm under Gabriel’s knees and the other under Gabriel’s shoulders, and lifts him easily. Gabriel’s still lucid enough to think ‘note to self: get Sam back for the bridal carry’, but he can tell that he’s only seconds away from blacking out.

            He’s right, and his last memory for quite a while is Sam kicking Adrian again as he carries Gabriel by.

***

            When Gabriel comes back to himself, he’s warm, comfortable, and has regained full control of his limbs.

            He sits up, noting absently that his back is bruised, presumably from the contact with the brick wall.

            Sam’s sitting at the table in the ‘kitchen’ area of the motel room, and he looks like absolute shit. He’s got deep purple bags under his eyes, and his hair is greasy and unkempt. “How long have I been out?” Gabriel asks, afraid of the answer.

            Sam jumps; he had been looking in Gabriel’s direction, but was apparently so out of it that he hadn’t noticed Gabriel moving. “Um, like twelve hours?” he answers, voice rougher than usual.

            Gabriel relaxes enough to give Sam a judgmental eyebrow. “You managed to get yourself in _that_ state in twelve hours?” he asks, giving Sam an obvious once over.

            Apparently, Gabriel’s ability to joke relaxes Sam too: he looks down, brings up a hand to scrub over his face, and barks out a laugh. “Not sleeping doesn’t agree with me,” he admits.

            “Did you kill him?” Gabriel asks casually. It’s the only reason he can really think of why Sam wouldn’t have gotten any sleep after saving him; it’s not like he could have been worried about Gabriel’s well-being once he was safely in the hotel room.

            Sam shakes his head, though he looks slightly surprised that Gabriel is so blasé about the idea. “Nah. Dean and I went after him, but he got away, and Cas couldn’t find him either.”

            Gabriel groans and thumps his head back on the pillow. “Great,” he tells the ceiling. “Dean’s never gonna let me live this down, is he? The archangel that got _roofied_.”

            “I didn’t tell him,” Sam says quietly.

            Gabriel sits up again and gives him a sharp look. “How’d you explain me going all Sleeping Beauty, then?”

            Sam shrugs. “Told him you got into a fight with a guy, who roughed you up pretty bad and knocked you out. I think Cas knows something is up, but I didn’t let Dean get close enough to you to figure it out.”

            “Thanks, Sam,” Gabriel can’t think of anything else to say, for once. Just when he thinks he’s got Sam’s number, he goes and does something like this: something so unexpectedly thoughtful and selfless, and it throws Gabriel off guard all over again.

            It isn’t until that thought that Gabriel _gets it_ , and, when he does, he feels like a world-class dunce. He laughs and shakes his head incredulously, prompting Sam to ask. “What?”

            “Well, it seems like that whole online dating thing you came up with wasn’t necessary after all,” Gabriel says, enjoying the confused look that comes over Sam’s face at his cryptic comment.

            “You’re not just going to give up, are you?” Sam asks. “I mean, I’m _really_ sorry about what that creep tried to do to you, but -”

            Typical Sam. Gabriel decides to end this rambling before Sam spirals into a state of guilt and self-loathing. He stands up and crosses the room in two strides. Puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder to cut him off. Leans in and captures Sam’s lips when Sam turns to him.

            He hadn’t gotten anywhere near kissing with Laura, and the kissing with Adrian had been decidedly in the non-consensual territory, so it wasn’t exactly surprising that he hadn’t gotten his powers back from either of them.

            It’s also not surprising when, as Sam’s lips begin to move against Gabriel’s, he feels the gaping emptiness that’s been inside him for the past two weeks begins to fill up, feels cosmic power begin to re-enter his limbs, feels the bruises on his back erasing like marks on a chalkboard.

            Gabriel pulls away, taps Sam on the nose (causing Sam’s eyes to cross as he tries to keep the finger in view), announces “Hold that thought, Sammy,” and pops out of existence.

            When he returns thirty seconds later, Sam hasn’t moved an inch. He’s clearly figured out what’s going on, though, because he looks vaguely amused, instead of confused. “Needed to stretch your wings?” he asks, slightly snarky.

            “Needed to turn Adrian into a cockroach and then step on him,” Gabriel answers. “I am _nobody’s_ damsel in distress, Winchester.”

            Sam ducks his head, trying to hide a smile. “I guess not,” he admits, then looks back up at Gabriel with a mischievous look in his eyes. “So, true love?”

            Gabriel rolls his eyes, even as he moves closer to Sam. “Apparently. I guess it was too much to ask for, a _true love_ that can let sleeping dogs lie?” He winds his arms around Sam’s neck, enjoying the momentary height advantage that Sam’s seated form affords him.

            “Are you kidding?” Sam asks. “I’m going to milk this for the next _eternity_. I’m your Prince Charming.” The wide smile that steals over Sam’s face at this is one that Gabriel has never seen before from him. It makes him look much younger than he is.

            "Sam?” Gabriel requests. “Shut up.” He follows it up by kissing Sam again, just to make sure that his order is followed.

            Of course, that is the _exact_ moment when Chuck decides it’s a good idea to show up to gloat.

            They wouldn’t _know_ he was in the room, of course, what with the silent appearances and the fact that they are currently kind of engrossed in each other, but Chuck has also apparently seen fit to bring company.

              “Oh my God!” a high pitched female voice squeaks behind Gabriel. He yanks himself away from Sam’s mouth, shocked, and whirls around to see Chuck, shit-eating grin firmly in place, accompanied by a blonde woman who practically has anime hearts in her eyes.

            Sam cranes his neck to look around Gabriel at the intruders, and barely stifles a groan. “Hey Chuck. Becky,” he says, wincing as he acknowledges the blonde.

            Becky legitimately _squeals_ in glee, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. Holy shit, she’s worse than Laura.

            “Sam!” she runs over and practically yanks him out of his chair for a hug. Sam looks supremely awkward, like he doesn’t know where to put his hands. Luckily, Becky pulls away from him rather quickly, but then she starts _babbling_. “I’ve got to admit, I was super bummed when I found out that Destiel was canon, because you _know_ how hard I shipped Wincest,” she says happily. “But I never thought about how _super cute_ Sabriel would be!”

            Gabriel literally does not know what half of the words that just came out of Becky’s mouth mean. Judging by Chuck’s earlier reaction when he was less-than-polite about his girlfriend, however, Gabriel decides to err on the side of caution and greet her properly, ignoring her babble. He walks over to stand by Sam, extending a hand to Becky. “So you’re my new mother-in-law, huh?”

            Becky squeals again, gripping Gabriel’s hand so hard that it almost hurts. “You’re even cuter than I expected!” she gushes.

            “Thanks?” says Gabriel.

            It’s at this point that Chuck decides to get with the program. “So Gabriel’s completed my task!” he says loudly.

            “Don’t go into a career as a super villain, Dad, you suck at it,” is Gabriel’s answer. “I mean, really, you practically dropped me right in his lap. Only a complete moron _wouldn’t_ have completed your task.”

            “If you were as smart as you think you are, it would’ve taken you less than two weeks,” Chuck retorts.

            Gabriel does _not_ appreciate Sam’s stifled laughter at that, and steps on his foot to tell him so.

            “We’re missing a couple of people to celebrate, though,” Chuck says thoughtfully.

            Suddenly, Dean and Castiel are in the room with them. “What _now_?” Dean grouses, from where he had landed on the floor. “Jesus, at least angels give us some fucking warning before they poof us places.”

            “I don’t,” Gabriel feels compelled to point out.

            “I could still kill you,” Dean replies, getting to his feet.

            With a showy snap of his fingers, Gabriel knocks Dean right back down. “Not anymore, Dean-o!”

            “Father,” Castiel acknowledges. “I take it Gabriel has found a compatible human partner?”

             “Thank you for having some _manners_ , Cas,” Sam mutters, glaring daggers at his brother, who is now spewing profanity like it’s his job, while Gabriel looks on in amusement.

            Neither Dean nor Castiel has noticed Becky, which she, of course, decides to rectify in the loudest way possible. Dean neatly sidesteps her hug, leaving her with no other choice than to assault Castiel. The look on Castiel’s face, as though he is utterly overwhelmed by the oddness of humanity, makes Gabriel decide that he and Becky are going to be best friends. There’s no way he can pass up on seeing _that_ on a regular basis.

            “Wait a second,” Dean says. “Where’s this _compatible human partner_ of yours?”

            Gabriel snickers. This is going to be good.

            Sure enough, Sam, who Gabriel can see out of the corner of his eye, is slowly going red. As Dean casts a suspicious gaze around the room, as though Gabriel’s hiding another person somewhere in the five square feet available to him, Sam averts his eyes, looking down at his feet.

            For all Gabriel likes to tease Dean about being a Neanderthal, he knows that Dean isn’t actually stupid. So it’s no surprise when he jerks back as though he’s been punched and declares “No. No way in Hell.”

            “Yep,” Gabriel answers, popping his lips on the ‘p’, just to annoy Dean.

            “You are _not_ fucking my little brother!”

            “That’s not your decision, Dean!” Sam interjects hotly.

            Gabriel spares a glance to the other people and supernatural beings in the room. Chuck looks resigned, Becky excited, and Castiel doesn’t even seem to be paying attention.

            “It’s my job to try to prevent you from making _stupid_ decisions!” Dean shoots back.

            “What, so _you’re_ allowed to have constant angel sex, and to constantly _tell_ me about all the angel sex you’re having, but I’m not?”

            “That’s a completely different situation! Cas has never _killed_ you.”

            “To be fair, I was really only _pretending_ to kill you,” says Gabriel.

            Both Winchester brothers turn to glare at him for that comment. Wow, when they do that, you can really see the family resemblance.

            “Wait, are they talking about what happened in _Mystery Spot_?” Becky asks Chuck in a stage whisper. “I _loved_ that book, Sam’s emotional journey was so _heart wrenching_ , and you could tell that the Trickster really was trying to help him -”

            “Oh my God,” says Dean. “My brother wants to have sex with a homicidal archangel, and now God’s girlfriend is talking about the books that God wrote about us. I need a drink.”

            “You _could_ get a drink here, _or_ …” Chuck begins.

            Dean doesn’t look impressed.

            “…You and Castiel can go visit a couple of newly resurrected ladies. I’m sure they’d do some shots with you, for old times’ sake.”

            There’s an almost tangible sense of relief in the air when Chuck says this, the tension between Sam and Dean melting in the face of good news. Gabriel’s surprised to note that not only are Sam and Dean obviously over the moon about the second chance at life their friends are getting, but Castiel looks quietly pleased as well. Which, for him, is basically dancing in glee.

            “They’re alright? Where are they?” Dean asks, rapid-fire questions highlighting his anxiety to get to where these women are.

            “Oh, just in a little bar I rebuilt,” Chuck says, smirk curling over his face. “You’ll find a couple of other familiar faces there as well.”

            “Like who?” Sam asks. The implied question, ‘What about our parents?’ is so loud that he may as well have spoken it aloud.

            Chuck’s face softens at Sam’s question, and he almost resembles the benevolent God that humans hold so dear. “I’m afraid they’ve been dead for too long, Sam,” he explains. “Your mother…It’s been over twenty years since she died, she’d wake up in a completely different world than she left. Your father chose his death, and Jessica Moore…she had no knowledge of the supernatural. They’re better off at peace. I can’t resurrect everyone.”

            Gabriel half-expects Dean to challenge this assertion, to rail against the cruelty of God as he has before, but he merely accepts the decision with a weary nod. Gabriel supposes that his life has been so rife with misfortune that this can hardly register on his radar.

            “Gotta take what you can get, I guess,” Dean mutters. Castiel comes up to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Gabriel sways closer to Sam who, despite his silence, is radiating disappointment.

            Dean pulls himself together with a visible effort, and asks Chuck “So who else will we be seeing there? I wanna be prepared.”

            Chuck smiles again. “Oh,” he says nonchalantly, bringing his hand up to count on his fingers. “Ellen and Jo Harvelle, of course, Ash, Pamela Barnes, Victor Henrikson and the rest of the people who Lilith killed in that police station, Jimmy Novak,” he inclines his head toward Castiel as he says the last name, and Castiel actually smiles. “There are a few others, I think, but that should give you an idea.”

            Dean’s practically bouncing with impatience by the time Chuck finishes the list. “C’mon, Cas, let’s go!” he urges.

            Castiel doesn’t seem to have a word to the contrary, and with one parting look around the room, he touches his hand to Dean’s forehead and the both of them disappear.  

            Chuck turns to acknowledge Sam. “Well, that’s my cue to leave,” he says. “Gabriel, make sure Sam gets to the Roadhouse to see his resurrected friends within a couple hours.”

            Gabriel gives his Father a filthy smirk “I’m not sure if that’s going to be enough time, Chuck.”

            Sam punches Gabriel in a way that would be quite painful, if he were still human. “Shut _up_ , or I’ll make you take me right now,” he hisses.

            “Can’t we stay and watch?” Becky asks.

            Wide eyed, Chuck grabs her and disappears before anyone can answer that question.

            Sam’s got his giant head cradled in his equally giant hands. “That was the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me,” he says, voice muffled.

            Gabriel comes to stand in front of Sam, grabbing Sam’s hands to pull them away from his face and cradle them in his own. “I beg to differ,” he says. “What about that time Dean pantsed you in the middle of that supermarket?”

            Sam glares. “I hate you.”

            “ _True love,_ ” Gabriel reminds him. 

            “Lies,” says Sam, but he leans in closer to Gabriel anyway.

            “Truth,” Gabriel counters, and stands on his tiptoes to kiss Sam.

            Gabriel has sexual experience. Gabriel has _lots_ of sexual experience. But none of it has ever been quite like this. Sam’s mouth is hot and slick against his, and Sam’s not afraid to fight him for control. Gabriel’s used to bedding the shrinking violet type, men and women who know about and acknowledge his immense power.

            Sam Winchester, though, is like six and a half feet of pure muscle. He places a hand on the small of Gabriel’s back, pulling their bodies flush together, and taking some of the pressure off of Gabriel’s toes.

            Gabriel likes that a little _too_ much, the height difference between he and Sam, and the things they have to do to make up for it.

            The kissing’s nice – really, _really_ nice, if Gabriel’s gonna be truthful – but it’s not exactly what he wants right now, because they’re working on a bit of a time limit. If the only thing he had to keep in mind was Chuck’s warning, he would take his time with Sam, tumble to the bed and make him scream, but Gabriel knows that Sam’s eager to see his resurrected friends as well.

            So, Gabriel takes them to the bed, but gets down to business immediately. He pins Sam to the bed, and disappears both their pants with a lazy snap of the fingers.

            Sam pulls away from the kiss, surprised. “You don’t waste any time, huh?”

            “ _Please_ , you know you’re just as eager for it as I am,” Gabriel leers down at Sam as he says this.

            Sam rolls his eyes, then flips them over in one smooth move. Well, smooth by _human_ standards, at least – Gabriel could see it coming a mile away. He lets it happen, though, because what’s the fun in having the upper hand all the time?

            Sam attacks Gabriel’s mouth with renewed vigor, tracing a hand up Gabriel’s shirt to playfully pinch a nipple. Gabriel yelps “Hey! Pantsless, here! Why don’t you focus on that, instead of abusing my nipples?”

            Sam grins and pinches the other one.

            Instead of responding a second time to the teasing, Gabriel decides it’s time to play dirty. He pulls his hand out easily from under Sam’s, and wraps it around Sam’s rock hard cock.

            Sam gets with the program, then, reaching down to return the favor as the two of them try (and mostly fail) to keep kissing.

            It’s pretty damn awkward, not to mention _messy_ , what with all the precome that’s getting absolutely everywhere, and there’s not a single person who would watch a porno of this particular encounter.

            Somehow, it still manages to be the hottest thing Gabriel’s ever done, mutual handjobs while he’s completely covered by Sam’s bulk.

            It’s a relatively short affair, as well: Sam comes with a grunt less than ten minutes after they begin, and Gabriel follows soon after.

            Gabriel’s up and ready to go within two minutes. “C’mon, Sammy!” he wheedles. “Let’s go mingle with your zombie friends so that we can come back here and have more sex.”

            “’m gonna need t’shower,” Sam slurs, still lying on the bed.

            Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Hello? Newly re-powered archangel, here?” Not even bothering to snap his fingers, he cleans himself, Sam, and the bed up, and changes Sam’s clothes as well.

            _That_ causes Sam to (literally) sit up and take notice. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” he tries his best to sound grumpy, but he still looks too blissed out for it to be convincing.

            As Gabriel _poofs_ them out of the room, flying at breakneck speed towards the Roadhouse, his last thought is that he can’t wait for Dean to see the look on his little brother’s face.


End file.
